Marshal
by webdlfan
Summary: You thought you knew why Lindsay Monroe became a detective, but that's not the whole reason. Danny's about to meet the other one...
1. Mist

**Chapter 1: Mist**

_Okay, this is not the story I told some of you I was going to write next ... that one's too complicated to begin nearly two weeks before the start of nanowrimo. Not that I'll finish this one, but it came out of my fingers unlike the other one! So ..._

_You thought you knew why Lindsay Monroe became a detective, but that's not the whole reason. Meet the other one..._

_A/N: May 21, 2009 … updating to slip into the current season. Runs after Sex, lies and Silicone to just before Enough. Or that's the plan. We'll see where Marshall takes me, or if he goes anywhere, this time._

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Chapter 1:

Neither hot nor cold and a mist more drizzle than fog, the mood of the day was dreary. Dark. _Blah_.

Umbrellas were useless. They had a case, without leads, and several days without rhythm. The cars drove on by as Lindsay and Danny walked side by side in silence, the roll of tires over wet pavement cascading over and over as everything just moved on.

Whether it was the mood of the city, or the lack of spark in the case, they were silent, bereft of their usual easy banter. But it wasn't awkward in the silence. They were just … returning to the same spot of the crime one more time.

Each had one hand in their pocket, the other on the handle of their case. They'd taken the subway, as the trip was simply another visit logged not far from the lab. It was somewhat of a hunch, some what of an attempt to find something new. They had simply nothing left.

Except Mac always said that you never ran out of evidence.

When Danny stopped, Lindsay looked up and watched his long fingers as he broke the seal on the door and opened it. She'd been keeping her head down, away from the wet of the day. They walked in wordessly, the air stiff and warm.

Together, they set their cases down on the ground, then leaded up, looked around. Lindsay shrugged out of her coat and draped it over her case as Danny propped open the door to let some light and air inside.

Hands on hips, she stood at Danny's side and studied the empty store front.

There was a long stylized counter that sat toward the back, brackets extending from the walls where clothes had once hung. Old signage leaned against the wall. It had been closed for nearly a year when the murder had re-opened its doors.

Danny pulled out his flashlight and ran the beam over the counter. Not even the dust moved.

_Rats_.

Lindsay ginned at the thought, her own little attempt at humor. Although inner. No little creatures that tended to live in uninhabited areas. Nothing out of the ordinary.

_Rats._

She grinned further and started to say the same thing to Danny.

"Any ideas?" he beat her to it.

"No …" she said simply as she followed the light of the flashlight as Danny ran it over the floor. "Except …"

"What?"

"They were _here _for a reason. But why? Empty store. Descent rental space that can't catch a break in a bad economy. All that's left here is bars to hang the clothes on. And dust. Lots of dust. Yet no rats. No vermin. No--"

"Are you looking for trouble?"

"No, but shouldn't there be. _Something_? I mean, an empty building like this. A dead body. It's almost as if…"

"Someone's here regularly." He nodded his head, ever so slightly. "Let's look again—"

At that moment her cell chimed on, the little hometown country song reserved for her family. She pulled it out, raised her brows in surprise. "Ah, I need to get this."

He looked at her as if he expected her to elaborate, and feared she would. Then he seemed to shake it off.

Such were the way things were between them. Still. At times.

"Danny—" she said as her cell rang again.

"Nothin' … I'll just go on back and check the office."

Lindsay sighed as she watched him walk away from her, then turned around as her cell pealed off another set of tones. She stepped through the open door, outside into the mist.

"Marshal," she pressed the phone to her ear, used the family name for her mother's father, taken not from his name, but from his former occupation. "How's everything?"

She could almost imagine him tapping some surface twice with his fist before answering. "Just arrived at LaGuardia."

His voice was so familiar, like it had always been. Rusty, dusty. Deep. The weirdness she'd just felt with Danny fell away and left an easy smile.

"The airport? In New York?"

"Skills are getting a little slow little girl," he said, his voice soft with affection. It weakened her. That soft rumble of a voice, with its slight chafing at its center, nearly took her back home to the ranch, sitting by the fire at his knee, watching the flames rise up on a cold wintry day.

But that was Montana. This was New York.

_Her home turf_.

Montana was further away now than miles.

"Here?" She looked back, watched through the doorway as Danny pulled on his gloves. "I just didn't expect to … Uncle Tommy didn't say anything about … did I _miss_ something—"

He chuckled. The deep rumble that rolled over the phone and straight in her heart, in the same way it had any time she'd sat on his lap as a little girl. It was warmer than Santa's laugh, deeper with more knowledge, understanding grief, Lindsay was now certain.

"I'm not here on family business."

She knew that tone. She frowned as she ran her fingers through her hair. "Marshal. You promised to keep out of—"

"I can never not have my hand in."

"But—"

"Old case came up, the FBI picked up the case, brought me back in to help them go over the old files. I'm not getting back in"

"Just happened to call you."

"Names on the file. Who else were they going to call?"

_If you would let your replacement do his job_.

"You _were_ a federal marshal in Montana, _Marshal_. This is New York city."

"Federal marshals are federal marshals, girlie. Just looking into some things,."

"_Marshal_."

"I need to call in, let my contacts at the Bureau know I arrive. We'll talk at supper—you, me … that young man of yours."

Lindsay held back a sigh and tried again. "You'll bring me in on this case?"

"I'm just bringing in my expertise, letting the young fellas do their thing."

"Marshal—" she'd spoken too loud—it jarred her a bit. She pressed her fingertips to her forehead; a headache was beginning to drum as she looked around. "If I breath a word of this to mom—"

"You wouldn't."

"You'll bring me in."

"We'll talk at dinner," and from his voice, Lindsay doubted that she would get very far with him then either. "Besides, it's about time I met that young man of yours. See how he's treating you."

Oh, she knew _that_ tone.

"We'll work it out."

"Get him to recommend a good steak."

She grinned. "I think I can do that on my own. I haven't forgotten my roots."

"See that you don't."

Despite the fact that she knew she should be mad at him for stepping back into the game, she was smiling as she hung up the phone. He had retired more than a decade ago, but she doubted he'd truly stayed out of the game. Her family had argued with his involvement since then a handful of times.

But she doubted he would be alive and kicking if he ever did quit.

Of course, now she needed to get Danny to dinner. His shift ran later. He'd have to take some personal time, or re-work his schedule. He'd do it … but he might make her wrestle around with him a little just for fun.

Then she heard it. The prickle of silence, then the low rumble of voices.

Reaching to her side, she drew her weapon, and slowly crept forward.

Danny had broken the tape.

No one else should be inside.

And as she edged to the doorway, she saw someone else standing at the edge of the doorway.

A revolver in his hand—pointed directly at Danny.


	2. Games

_Thank you guys so much for the amazing reviews and response to the first chapter--and so sorry for the wait on the update! It's funny how easy it is to get your characters into trouble--then you have to have the right words and actions to get them out! _

_Oh, and obviously, I don't own CSI NY, or any of the products, games or anything official mentioned in this chapter. I don't even have stock in the companies. And if I did ... well, I'm just glad I didn't._

_A/N: Edited on May 21, 2009 to bring story into Season 5. Fits between Sex, Lies and Silicone and Enough. What? You don't remember meeting Lindsay's grandfather? Where do you think Lindsay was for Cost of Living? … you'll just have to wait and see. Not there yet._

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Chapter 2:

Lindsey stared at the hand that held the gun. It had the smoothness of youth, the edge of work, and the grip of experience.

He wasn't a tall man. He was left handed. The sleeve of his coat, a rough and battered leather, covered his arm. She didn't know, couldn't tell his strength.

"I don't want to hurt you or anything—"

_A teenager_, she realized. There was definitely youth in that voice, past puberty, conditioned with the knowledge of the streets. But there was still a quality within it—and with that, came mistakes. Desperation.

"You're the one with a gun trained on me." Lindsay watched Danny's eyes trace over the gun.

"Just give it to me and I'll be done, man."

_With Danny_ … Lindsay heard it in the voice. He wasn't going to give Danny time to get out, a chance to remember him. Faced with a gun to him, he would most likely panic. Fire. He just wanted time to get whatever he thought was there and get out before someone came running.

She looked around, noted the metal handing rods that were still attached to the walls. She carefully stepped over and lifted the long rod up; grateful for the department store gig she'd had in college. Good ol' Sears.

"What? We've cleaned this place out," Danny's New York accent was stronger than ever.

"Open the drawer. The middle one. Slowly," he stepped into the room so that Lindsay lost sight of him.

"There's nothing here, man."

"Take the drawer out and set in on the desk," he stepped closer to the desk. "Just do it!"

Carefully she unsnapped the holster and stepped closer to the doorway. Her right hand held the long bar over her shoulder.

Danny obliged enough to pull the drawer out, and then made an effort in yanking it back a few times for show and noise.

"Come on, _copper_. You're one of those scientist freaks. Just do it, or I will. Which means I'll be stepping over your dead body to get there."

For a moment, Danny just looked up, met his gaze. _Please don't do something stupid, Danny_ … Lindsay silently begged, and nearly sighed with relief when he used both hands. He glanced up, briefly met her gaze.

Suddenly she knew what Danny wanted. What he was waiting for.

He pulled at it again, and struggled with it, distracting the gunman with both sound and his own frustration. Lindsay stepped in, unnoticed.

Arm still back.

"Now set in on the desk."

"You should know, my partner is perfection at the whack a mole."

"What?"

Lindsay swung her arm forward, watched as his neck bowed back and he slid to the floor. She kicked at his gun, held her weapon steady as the gunman groaned and slowly started to turn over.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she stepped forward and placed a foot to his back, to thrust him back down. Danny came around and knelt to deal with cuffing him. She watched his long fingers as he worked, but kept her gun trained.

"The _whack a mole_?" she asked. "Why couldn't you have mentioned that I can beat you at the shooting range?"

"That's not something I'm willing to spread around."

"Well, where do you think I learned to shoot?"

Handcuffs secured, he turned his head to look up at her. "Don't tell me. Out on the prairie with the gofers poppin up and down."

The laugh bubbled out of her. "No. Try _Duck Hunter_. Super Nintendo. Top score in the family."

When he shot her a look she simply grinned. "So? I was a huntin' girl. Gotta problem with that, Messer?"

"Not at the moment. Our guy here, though…" Danny pushed himself up and helped the now shackled gunman to his feet. "Come on, fella. I think you owe us a few answers."

"I'm not saying anything without a lawyer."

"Oh really? Us two scientist freaks? We already got enough on you to keep you around for a long time. Why don't you just go ahead and tell us what you wanted."

"Not until I sue your—"

Danny let go and Lindsay winced as he hit the floor with a thud and started cursing them again.

"_Danny_."

"Oops," he shrugged and stepped forward, sliding those long fingers around her neck and drawing her close. "And you're a liar, Ms. Monroe."

"What?" distracted, she slid into the kiss, like ice sliding into a drink. Smooth and deep … just like that.

It settled her, she thought, sliding her arms around him. She could have lost him. _Really_ lost him.

When he leaned back, she found herself just looking into his eyes, absorbing the blue. Taking just a moment to know that they were safe. They were real.

"You better call backup."

Danny stepped around the gunman who was complaining again. Funny, she'd tuned him out for awhile there. She pulled her phone out, keeping an eye on him, even as she watched Danny walk around the desk to look at the drawer.

She watched as he picked it up, held it to the light.

So that she was the one who saw it.

"Danny—on the bottom."

He turned the drawer over and grinned. That satisfied Messer grin. "Well, look what we found. Looks like our boy was here for a reason after all."

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_This chapter, by the way, is dedicated to __**Lilymoonlight **_who challenged me to write Lindsay saving Danny... I've been trying to work this in for awhile now! Hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	3. Caught

_Wow! Once again, I have to thank you for the absolute wonderful support for this story! Thank you for the reviews ... and please keep them coming. They are very appreciated._

_By the way, not my characters. Just having some fun._

_A/N: May 23, 2009, Edited to … see chapter 1 if it matters. Between SLS and COL._

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Marshal 3:

Danny walked around the office, and studied the layout under the window. Lindsay had been right about the lack of a vacated building feel. Someone stayed around, got in, enough that the place stayed relatively empty of vermin. Not that it was clean—he'd thought, until he'd realized the lack of dust in the office.

Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to remove fingerprints and obvious trace from the office. There was no dust on the desk, squeaky desk chair, or … along the window sill.

His hands gloved, he pushed the window up. Hands on the sill, he carefully free-lifted himself up and through the window.

On the other side, Flack simply shook his head. "Never said I didn't understand how he got in, Messer. I was wondering how he got the drop on you. If he came in that window, and you were behind the desk. You didn't see him, didn't hear him."

Danny dropped to the floor, and dusted off his jeans. "I was under the desk."

"Really?" Flack glanced back, laughing. "Find anything interesting?"

"Besides myself on the wrong side of a gun? We'd been in and out, through everything. There had to be something else here. And as it turned out ..." he nodded toward the laptop on the desk.

"So he just came through the window, dropped in on you and you didn't even hear him?"

"Hey, Flack, I'm not your suspect," Danny spat. "'Sides. I heard him drop. Came out from under the desk to find a gun pointed at me."

"And Lindsay?"

"She was out there, had a phone call. She came in; hit the kid over the head with one of those clothes hanging bars."

"Lindsay saves the day."

"Team work," Danny smirked as he walked over to the laptop he'd asked to have sent over from the lab. He typed in a few keys. "Boy came in to get his disk. Look like something to you?"

He turned the laptop around for Flack to study.

"If you substitute names for the letters, employees on the left, customers on the right … looks like a low end prostitution ring." He looked around at the dusty back office. "Still professional. Used this empty back room to keep up shop."

Danny nodded. "Central meeting place. Probably center of traffic, or territory for the pimp and his lineup. We have motive now. Or a direction for one."

"I'll make some calls, see what my boys have heard and who they've picked up in this area. I'll head back to the precinct. See if we let our boy cook long enough."

Flack walked out and left Danny to close up shop. He half expected Lindsay to come in and join him. Flack had sent her out so he could get Danny's testimony after she had given hers. They would wrap it all up neatly with official paperwork, but Mac always said that details were what mattered.

And it could have been Lindsay stuck in the back corner of the office.

Alone.

He wouldn't, couldn't dwell on it. He'd only just begun to get her back, only just begun to forgive himself for the mess he'd created. She'd nearly walked away from him. He wasn't ready to lose her. He was beginning to believe he would never be ready to let her go.

He quickly tugged his gloves off with a snap and packed up the laptop, stowed his gear. When he walked out the back office, he saw her case set by the door. He set his cases down beside hers and stepped outside.

The sun had come out; the cars drove by on wet roads. He saw the people moving past down the street. And then he saw her, arms crossed as if staving off the cold. He saw the fretful look in her eyes.

"Linds? Hey—" he grabbed her arms and turned her to face him. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? You almost died in there, as I had to … and it was like you're not worried about … and then you're making jokes with Flack."

"I'm fine."

"I'm not," she wrenched herself away from him. "I'm not fine."

He tugged her close, and then wrapped his arms around her. At first, she stiffened; he thought he was used to it now, but it hurt. He couldn't believe it hurt. Even when she wasn't mad at him, even when they weren't at odds, there was always this moment when he pulled her into his arms that he felt her stiffen for the tiniest moment.

As if she had to remind herself she was okay.

Slowly he felt her relax.

He rested his cheek on the top of her head. Gave himself a moment. He could still see the gun. Could still see her behind the gun.

And had to deal with the fact that he'd needed her to put herself in danger to save himself. Didn't she know, he hated himself for that?

"Want the truth?" he ran a hand over her hair.

"What?"

"I needed this, too."

She lifted her head and smiled finally. "Really?"

"Yeah. Why do you think I kissed you in the first place?"

"Because you're Messer," she grinned, but even that didn't reach her eyes as she searched his. "It happened so fast."

"It's over."

"I saved you."

He grinned. Though he could have lambasted the point, he held back. He didn't want to. "Yeah."

"No arguing?"

"Nah. I'd rather spend it with somethin' better."

She said nothing as he leaned in for another kiss. She leaned into him, into it and felt her insides relax. Minutes ago, she'd just been wishing for him to just be hers, not responsible to the city, to the case, to the dead.

They could have been among the dead.

And now, right now, as she felt his lips against hers, she could only think that this was so right.

"This what they pay you for in New York little girl?"

Lindsay pulled back, shocked … to find her grandfather standing there. She'd always thought he had the look of Clint Eastwood, with his lantern jaw that she'd inherited, eyes that always seemed to squint, the warn lines around his lips. And the wavy peppered hair, thinned at the edges because of his Stetson.

"Marshal…" He had that look, too—simply direct. "I—we were just—" she glanced at Danny, suddenly realizing that she hadn't had a chance to tell him, to warn him. Not with the suspect, and the questions and the adrenaline still fading from her system.

Danny looked ... uncertain. Like he would bolt at any minutes. It suddenly occurred to her that with the name _Marshal_, his hands had dropped from her back. He might not have met all of her family on that single trip to Montana, but he had seen photos and heard about them.

"Marshal," she said as she stepped away from Danny, "this is Danny. Danny … my grandfather. You remember—"

Danny held out a hand. "Sir."

"This is what you do on the job?"

"Ah—no. Not before. We just had some—"

"We're on our way back, Marshal," Lindsay interrupted. Heaven forbid her grandfather find out that she was in danger. For him, it was one thing because he seemed to talk about the thrill of the chase, but for her …

"What are you doing here?"

"Doesn't work with a lawman, Girlie," he lifted a brow. "You can't let things distract you from your job. I could tell you a dozen stories of men I knew who through caution to the wind and let themselves where they were, who they were with…"

She'd heard it all before. The stories had warnings—not quite morals or lessons for a preschooler, but warnings for a lawman.

They were part of growing up with Marshal.

And if she told him his phone call had distracted her from her job before—that Danny had been in danger because she hadn't been there as back up?

She let out a breath. She shouldn't have let the call come between her and her job.

"Yes, sir," the words came out obediently, automatically. "How'd you find me?"

"Called your office. Came over when I finished at the Bureau," he stepped over, stepped close, and she was suddenly back home—warm and safe—as he tugged her into his arms. "Thought I'd take my youngest granddaughter to lunch."

He stepped back, glanced at Danny. "Seems we should invite you, too."

"It's fine," Danny said—glancing first at Lindsay. "You two catch up."

Marshall reached out and slapped him on the back, "You're part of the catching up. Promised her father that much. Heard you'd caused a little bit of grief here recently."

Danny stiffened, Lindsay inwardly groaned.

"Wanted to see if my granddaughter here was making the right choice for herself."

"If I am, its my business, Marshal," Lindsay murmured through tight lips. "Besides, Danny and I can't do lunch righht now. We've got to get back to the lab. New information's come in on a case."

Wise eyes searched hers. "You hiding something?"

"Doing my job."

"Oh, is that what that was?"

Lindsay narrowed her eyes. "My turf, Marshal. You're not here to grill me," she pocked a finger to his chest. "Or Danny. Neither my father, nor you have anything to say about my decision."

Marshal stepped forward, slapped a hand to her back. His smile at her was soft, but genuine. "Not worried. You got me in you girl. I don't expect anything but the best."

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_So ... thoughts, questions ... the good, the bad, the ugly? (Shameless Clint Eastwood play on words, I know--but why not?)._


	4. Steak

_Finally, I know. Here's chapter 4. I've gone back and edited 1-3 to kind of contain a little of the information we picked up later in the season. I now know that this falls into place between episodes Sex, Lies and Silicone, and ends before Enough … or around that time. _

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Chapter 4:

Danny followed Lindsay into the dimly lit restaurant. A decade ago, it would have been filled with wafting smoke, but the rest of the atmosphere—the noise of conversations, the clanking of silverware and glass, the 1970s rock poured over the age old speaker system. Half the people who sat around the battered tables looked like extras from the _Godfather_.

Nearly three years ago, he'd challenged Lindsay to a good steak. He'd wanted to see her in this setting.

She hasn't disappointed him, even when he told himself he'd expected something different. She'd thrived. Some of the regulars knew her by name. She didn't have to place a order anymore. And she didn't balk even though this wasn't a place that kept an A ranking in the inspection category. Flack had only come with him once.

Now, she grabbed his hand. "You're hesitating."

He turned, grinned at her. "I'm remembering you. All the times we've had here."

She cocked her head to the side and chuckled. "With a scowl?"

Had he been scowling?

Lindsay smiled mischievously. "You've got to talk with him sometime."

"Earlier today doesn't count?"

"I think you'll like him."

When he still hesitated, Lindsay turned into him and played with the lapel of his jacket. "Danny …" her voice had softened, her eyes suddenly serious. "I really want you to like Marshal. I really want the two of you to hit it off."

He broke her gaze and looked off into the crowd. Her grandfather was there, somewhere, but he didn't see him. Looking into the crowd of people, he accepted his fate. Lindsay was who he wanted, and Marshal was in her heart. A major part of her heart, and a major part of what had brought her to New York in the first place. Danny had known that for years now.

Maybe that's why he hesitated.

And maybe that's what was behind the serious look in Lindsay's eyes. Was he in this with her or not?

He'd already showed her he wasn't. He'd already slipped up. Here she was giving him a chance. Not just a chance, but opening the door for him to come in.

And to stay there, he would have to face Marshal. Now or later. Unfortunately, the old man had picked now. He could have put it off.

"A'ite. Take me to your grandfather."

She laughed, the sound full and bright. "It's not an execution, Danny."

"You sure about that? He's handed those, though … right? US Marshal and all?"

"He has stories he'd love to tell you. Just ask him."

This time, he followed.

They found Marshal in the back. He seemed to blend into the setting. Old man, rough on the edges, contemplating the darkness of his day.

As they approached the table, he stood, held out his arms for Lindsay, and smiled as she stepped into them. "Girlie."

"Find your way around a'ight?" Danny asked as he followed Lindsay lead and took his seat.

"Been to New York plenty times before you were even born."

"Ah—yeah. And your son lives here so I guess you've visited him."

Lindsay looked between her two men and sighed. Her grandfather sat stoically, as he would before a fire. It was something she was used to; not something, though, that was all that normal when she was with Danny. They could be quiet together, but it wasn't hard to read the depths of the other. They couldn't _not_ communicate.

Usually.

She pushed at the thought, though it took a moment to push aside. They were moving on. Besides, she had known he was troubled. He had communicated constantly with her. He just hadn't …

She watched him fiddle with his glasses again. When he dropped his hand to his leg, she reached over, covered it with her own. Curling her fingers around it, she broke the silence.

"So, Marshal. Are you going to tell me why you just popped into town."

"I told you—"

"Yeah, old case, called you in. You're _retired_." She stared him down.

Danny watched the exchange. Lindsay against her grandfather. It was almost like watching a mirror image. He knew where she'd gotten her steel side.

"Don't use that tone with me."

"What tone? What tone would you like me to use when I call home to tell Mama her father had a stroke out in New York City?"

"Your mother—"

"Or should I call Uncle Freddy? He's here in town." She'd pulled out her cell phone. Danny couldn't help but grin.

The old man stared her down, but he was the first to look away. He flipped his eyes to Danny, saw the grin on his face, and frowned further. "Careful of this girl. She's got a hard wall about her.

Danny felt her fingers flinch over his and he looked back at her. Lindsay's eyes were harder than ever. "I learned it from you."

The heat at the table seemed to flash. Even as the waiter came and got their order, tension flowed. From Danny to Lindsay to Marshal and around again. The music, the noise had both faded and become an agitator.

And then it was gone.

"Fine." Marshal sat back, picked up his drink. He looked over at Danny. "You know about the US Marshal service?"

"You handled Federal cases, prisoners, work for the justice department—"

"Among a growing list of changes," obviously unhappy about it, he shrugged it off. "We were the first law enforcement agency in the United States, written into the constitution and used by George Washington. I always knew I wanted to be part of it. Part of something that lasted. I grew up on a ranch, but my daddy didn't own any land. I could work the land, but I couldn't own it. I was made part of a posse at the age of 21—right when I got back from a stint in the war. Made some connections, moved right into the bureau. I was assigned to Montana to work with the federal authorities and Prison in Deer Lodge."

"Marshal."

"I'm givin' it to you my way, _girlie_."

Lindsay sighed. "_This could take all night,"_ she muttered.

"I was transferred before Deer Lodge closed in the late 70s, but it's where I met Lindsay's grandmother," he stared her down, then looked to Danny. "Didn't have a tie to Montana before that. We left Montana, went to work out of Seattle for awhile. I was there, in the 1980s, when a string of bank robberies took place across the northwest. Over the course of three years three men were killed. Good men. Family men. They were caught, four of them, though there were more. They were incarcerated, waiting their appointment with the judge."

He tapped his knuckles impatiently on the table. "First one. A Jonus Dills escaped on the way to his sentencing. There was a setup, a mess. Two officers were shot. One died. Every angle of that day was criticized and studied. For the next one, I was called in to work the job. His name was Perry Litmore. He'd done a bunch of talking. We were prepared for them to come get him. Instead, they weren't there to help him escape. They shot him. Right there on the steps."

"Third and forth one's names were Barry Carter and Simon Dills. Took them in together. Everything went fine. When it was time for their transfer to Federal prison, every precaution was made. The night before their transfer, I get called home. My wife—" his lips trembled over the word, then tightened. "She'd had the stroke. I got home just in time to be with her, before … and she was gone. And Barry Carter escaped. I wasn't there. I'd helped plan it. Set it in motion, but it fell apart. Another cop was shot."

"Simon Dills remained in custody, was transferred to the US Maximum Security prison in Allenwood, Pensylvania. There was a move, we handled it. Barry was recaptured in the process. He died in prison three years ago."

"I've studied those days. Kept my hand in for years. Couple of months ago, we registered some communication in the prison system. It got back to me, I made some calls. Simon was younger, was involved with the robberies, but not the ones with the murders. Nothing could put him there. He's up for parole."

"So you volunteered your services."

"They asked for them. They want me to go over their plans. Things are different now. Courthouses have been restructured for maximum security, but somehow, these men got in and out."

"Have to be more than twenty years older now," Danny said. "Rusty, maybe."

"There are a few robberies I think could be tied to them over the last twenty. But if it wasn't for the chatter we've been registering from the prisons …"

"There's going to be a move."

Lindsay nodded, looked at Danny—a moment of apprehension flashed—then back at Marshal. "When does this go down?"

"Next week."

She studied her grandfather's eyes, the smooth lines of age, thinned eyelashes, askew graying eyebrows. There was depth there, sadness. She understood his connection to this case. Had heard about the case he'd worked around her grandmother's death.

He'd never talked about it. She didn't imagine it was easy for him to talk about now.

Still, she knew he wanted to be involved. He'd told her the truth, but he wasn't telling her everything. "You're not planning on going to Pennsylvania, are you?"

"No plans," he said, and picked up his menu. "I'm just here to do some talking."

She nodded, looked to Danny. She was a little out of her depth here, with him. This wasn't her role—not the guardian/protector of the man she'd always loved—admired, even. Which would help him more? Stepping out? Stepping back?

The table had fallen into silence.

Danny turned his hand over, linked fingers with hers. He took a deep breath. The tension between him and Lindsay's grandfather was nothing compared to the tension between Lindsay and her grandfather.

_It was time to dive in_.

* * *

Later that night the three stepped out into the New York night. Marshal turned and looked at Lindsay, his eyes suddenly soft. He reached up, took her arms in his hands. "You've found your place here, girlie."

She smiled softly, somewhat sadly—a moment that meant something between the two of them only. "Yeah. I think I have."

"I'm a hard man girlie. But your grandmother would have been ashamed of me for turning that on you. You love Lindsay, you always have. There's nothing hard about that." He leaned forward, pressed a kiss to her forehead. "See you tomorrow, _girlie_."

As he pulled away, he looked back at Danny, somewhat resigned, though obviously not pleased. He nodded, and turned to walk on.

Lindsay nodded, swallowed and said nothing more.

For a moment, they stood in the night and watched him go.

A group, loud and slightly rowdy walked out of the joint. Stepped into their line of sight. Danny slid an arm around Lindsay, pulled her close to his side. She leaned into him, and rested her head against him.

"He didn't tell you everything, did he?" Danny asked.

"No," Lindsay murmured. "There are offices in Pennsylvania, the headquarters is in Virginia. He never said why he was in New York."

"Should we follow him?"

"Only if he wanted us to. He's gone."

* * *

_Obviously, we're not at COL yet. But I think we will be in the next chapter. Good thing it re-airs in a week or so. Would love reviews if you are so inclined! :)_


	5. Theatre

_As usual, I do not own these characters, and if I did … well. Anyway._

___

Chapter 5: Theatre

Lindsay turned her head, looked away from the direction her grandfather had gone. The street was busy. The bright yellow taxi's stood out in the traffic as they plodded slowly on. The sounds suddenly registered to her—it was odd that you usually just tuned it all out. How she had learned to tune it all out.

But for a moment, she missed Montana, the wide open sky that would have been dotted with stars. The room to run and not have to weave through a crowd. Just run straight and forward in what seemed like a moment of forever.

And the space to scream, to just let out the tension in one massive burst of noise where no one would be concerned or even know. To fall to the ground, and roll over to look at the night sky. To just look at the stars.

For the tears to come, and not have to worry that someone would make something of it.

Or as would most likely happen here—ignore it, tune it out, or push it aside.

When Danny's hand closed over her shoulder, she jumped.

"Linds?"

She shook her head and looked back at him as she offered a saddened smile. "Sorry."

"What do you want to do?" his fingers nudged aside her shoulder length hair and gently rubbed the based of her neck where so much of the tension had massed. "We've got the night wide open to ourselves."

"Lets just go somewhere," she said, leaning into his touch. "Go somewhere just to … I don't know. Just to do it."

"How about a movie?"

"Somewhere off the beaten path?"

"I know exactly the place," his hand dropped down, followed the length of her back, then came around to meet with hers. She merged her fingers with his, and felt a release.

She wasn't in Montana, but her grandfather was right. This was her place.

.ny.

Danny's theater was so different than the thoughts of Montana she'd been having, it felt like something out of a movie itself. In a way, it infused a sense of New York back into her heart. Hidden between a Chinese restaurant and a New York City hostel, the outside showed signs of greatness and age. It had been, at one time, one of the grand movie palaces, but economic times had whittled down its real estate so that it seemed more of a hole in the wall than something impressive. It only offered one screen. And that screen wasn't even publicized on the outside.

It was, Lindsay thought, a New York City nitch. And perfect for what she needed tonight.

Rehab had not come to the classic interior, either. As Lindsay walked in, hand in hand with Danny, she felt like she was entering her own horror movie. She giggled a little, expecting the dark music to warn her of her impending death.

"What?" he asked as they reached the inside usher who took their tickets.

"This is cool," she accepted the ticket that the guy handed back to her. "Why haven't you brought me here before?"

"Not usually my type of gig—they have a lot of marathons. Foreign films, mostly. French, Polish. Subtitles. That kind of thing."

"So what's on tonight?"

Danny reached forward, opened the door to the theatre, and tried to usher her in. "I don't know. But the theme is classic horror films."

She stopped him, stood at the door and stared up at him. "This was so not happenstance."

"No … I saw it last week, thought I'd get around to bringing you a few times. Just so happened tonight was our night."

For Lindsay, something inside of her softened toward him, something pealed back slightly enough to shimmer, something that had been missing—not just for the last few hours, but for the last few months. She rode on the feeling and bounced slightly to bump her lips against his. "You're absolutely amazing, you know that?"

Danny grinned, and hand on her back, ushered her in to the darkened room.

.ny.

For a few hours, Lindsay simply relaxed. Danny simply watched her. They stuck around for a second movie, and then Lindsay convinced him to stay for the third—a film, she said, was voted the worst film ever made which made it something they should see.

He was doubtful, but stayed and was surprised by the number of people that meandered in to fill nearly half the seats.

Ten minutes later, he sighed and pulled out his vibrating phone. They were walked hand in hand out of the theatre.

"I'm sorry we had to leave." He couldn't keep the laughter from his voice.

"It's okay," she turned, found his other hand and laced her fingers through it as well. "We can rent it. Or come back."

He laughed. "Next time, I'll pay attention to what's showing."

She pushed up, pressed her lips to his for a brief kiss. "I guess I'll see you at work tomorrow?"

"Don't rush away just yet," he released her hands, slid his arm around her back, and turned in the direction of the subway. "I'll take you home."

"Danny—you've got to get your case, get to the scene."

"And your grandfather could be waiting there at your place. I just want him to think—"

"Something other than the truth?" she eyeballed him with a sideways glance, but didn't stop moving. If Danny was going to insist taking her home, then she needed to move. "So gallant."

He shrugged it off, but kept his hand in hers, and picked up the pace. Little did Danny know that the murder scene would lead him less into horror film and more into Jones. Indiana Jones, to be precise.

_Next up: Cost of Living …_

___

_I intended to move into COL, but it seemed too much for now. So you got the fluff! :p And… here's a weird note, but as I can, I'm going to satisfy my own need to share what I had decided to write in … then deleted._

I started off with the theme for the movies as Superhero films, but, those really didn't take off until the 70s. I even tried to look up foreign superhero films to give the showings some range, but … alas Google didn't offer anything. New films didn't fit the setting's budget. SO I moved to horror.

I wrote them watching the movies, but it started to drag, so if you're just wondering what I think Lindsay and Danny saw … the movie they entered into the middle of at first was the old Boris Karloff film _The Old Dark House_, then the Vincent Price film – _The Fly _(I thought it would be something Danny could rib Lindsay about) and the third is the only movie I've seen (and own) of the three—the film voted worst movie ever made: Ed Wood's _Plan Nine from Outer Space._ I learned about it in my history of film class and then watched it. It's hi-larious. Warning though--watch it with a group of people that love quirky things (and do a little bit of research to be prepared to know what to look for) … keep your eyes open for wire on the space ships, cardboard tombstones that move, curtains on the edge of a set, the detective unable to get out of the grave … and the terrible, terrible dialogue. Oh—and the classic Dracula, Bela Lugosi, who died early in the filming and they reused the same scene over and over again, then replaced him with a really tall, younger man that walks around with a cape over his face. Opps, sorry for the history lesson—but I think Lindsay would have been fascinated by this one as well. But I could just be projecting myself. :)

A/N to make this longer!: I did the research myself. Go to imdb and look it up. Click on the review labeled something like "to be taught" which is spot on, and then on the link for goofs ... _that's_ what I'm talking about. :p


	6. Morning

_We've hit __Cost of Living. I believe this is the last episode with Danny and his glasses, so you get to "see" them. There is actually a reason Danny (not Carmine) won't wear them later. But that's for later chapters._

* * *

Marshal 6:

It was another misty New York Morning. Lindsay huddled into her coat as she stepped up from the subway and into the natural light. She smiled a little as people stepped around her. She'd woken early, a smile on her lips left over from whatever her dreams had been.

Then she thought of her grandfather, made a call to her Uncle Freddie, and was relieved to find that Marshall had been at his place last night. She checked her email, found a few messages from Danny he'd sent while she'd slept. They made her smile, the little jokes and the vague clues to the case he had picked up last night.

Everything felt right in her world.

She got dressed, headed out early and stopped at the street vender down from her apartment. The proprietor was an aging, but a symbol of New York. He maintained the edge of grumpiness, but over the last few years he'd gotten used to her chatter. She liked to think he looked forward to seeing her.

More than likely, he looked forward to the days she showed up with Danny—who would tug her on her way then laugh at her for perplexing the old man.

She bought her donut and a coffee with heavy cream and left the man with a cheerful smile.

Now, as she walked toward the crime lab building she slowed her pace. She was still early after all. The people around her simply moved. She enjoyed seeing the different people, day in and day out, all mixed together in color and creed into a cacophony of what made up New York. It was nothing, nothing like Montana. Even as she followed a group into the building, she only recognized a handful of them. She knew even less recognized her.

Today's receptionist at sign in was Nancy. She barely glanced at the IDs and signatures; just enough to made the ID and send people on their way. She didn't like small talk, and wouldn't recognize you the next day.

But then a lot of people came through every day. Lindsay preferred Eloise. The older receptionist liked to step and talk, if it wasn't busy. There was recognition in her eyes, and a sharp mind that remembered something you said if the detail was important enough.

She'd noticed the moment Lindsay gave in, after the trial, to Danny. And she'd noticed when things ended. She was hesitant now, but Lindsay knew she waited for confirmation. Lindsay just wasn't sure what held her back.

And at least for today, with Nancy at the desk, she didn't have to wonder.

It took awhile, from sign-in to riding high in the elevator, but as Lindsay stepped off the elevator, she headed toward her office just as Danny came out. He looked up and caught her eye, then leaned back against the door frame to wait on her.

"Morning," he said when she was close enough. He grinned widely at her, and bounced on the balls of his feet.

She smiled at him. "Good morning. You're certainly chipper. That's usually my role."

He grinned, looking something like she imagined he would at Christmas. "I just thought you might want me to bring you up to speed on our latest case."

"And you're volunteering your services?"

"I've wanted to call you since early this morning."

"I noticed, via the emails," she shrugged out of her coat. "Why didn't you?"

"Thought you'd want your sleep."

"That was thoughtful of you," she folded her coat over her arms as she waited. "You going to let me in our office?"

He stayed there, leaning against the frame and grinned at her. "Guess."

"Guess what?"

"Guess what movie last nights crime scene reminded me of?"

"Not Plan 9?"

"No—not something we've seen. Not yet. We should though," he frowned a little over it, oddly distracted. "I can't believe we haven't seen any of them together."

"Danny—" she tilted her head, lifted her eyebrows.

"_I keep telling you, you listen to me more, you live longer!_"

And there it was, the odd tingling in the back of her mind. "Ah …"

"Nope—not fast enough, _Montana_. _Wear your jewels to bed Princess?_"

"Ah—" she held up a hand—eyed him with her best evil eye so that he would wait. "Jewels. Princess. Danger and exotic places. I think I've got it. _Wear your jewels to bed Princess? Yeah... and nothing else. Shock you?_"

Danny's eyes danced as he leaned back, so obviously proud of himself. "_Nothing shocks me. I'm a scientist._"

Lindsay laughed. "How long have you been waiting to say that line?"

"Since about three o'clock this morning."

"You're like a little boy at Christmas," she tried to step by him and into their office, but he held out a hand and stopped her. She took a step back, feigned impatience.

"Wait. I have another," he leaned in close. "_Where's the antidote?_"

Lindsay rolled her eyes, but reveled in his cheerfulness. They didn't always have these moments—little times to simply treasure each other. So much of their lives were awash with the immediate, the serious, and the dreadful. And a lot of times, the mundane.

So it was nice that she'd found a guy who could make her laugh in the midst of all of that.

"_The antidote?_ Why Mr. Messer! _I just met you! I'm not that kind of girl…_"

As she watched him nod in recognition, she thought of Eloise and wondered why she couldn't just confirm that they were back together.

"You going to tell me what Indiana Jones has to do with our new case?"

"That's what I'm here for," Danny grinned at her as he dropped his arm, let her pass. "Grab a seat and I'll fill you in."

"Great, while you do that I'll start finishing the paperwork so we can put yesterday's case to bed."

.ny.

They'd found a man, James Sutton, dressed in India Jones garb. He was an archeologist and was currently fixated on the urban archeology of New York City. There were ligature marks on his neck, a bloody oven mitt, and another half dozen catalogued pieces of trace that needed to be documented.

She worked her way through the paperwork, made a few calls to let the right people know they were finished. The ADA had a few questions, then she had to return a call from a special unit on prostitution. The evidence was carefully checked and catalogued. She ran it through twice, double and triple checked the forms, and then went to find Danny.

She didn't always end up with the paperwork. Danny did his share, and when they could, they worked together in their office. They had a routine. It was nice to see they were back into the swing of things.

She found him trace. The lab was active outside the glass walls, but for the moment he was alone. He looked up at her from the oven mitt he held.

"Considering your lunch options?" she asked.

"Hardly," he frowned as he looked back, then shook his head. "This wasn't human."

"Are oven mitt's normally human?"

"Smart tail. The blood and hair. Rat. A rat was killed with the mitt. Or on the mitt."

"You found it in a New York ally. This surprises you?"

"Did you just come to bring the snark?"

"Nope. I came baring gifts," she stepped around the table and handed him the paperwork. He started reading the top page and pulled a pen out of the pocket on his lab coat.

Lindsay simply watched him, and considered this side of him. Standing there with his lab coat and glasses, carefully reading over the document and following procedure, even though she knew he trusted her. It wasn't about trust. It was about following the rules. Sometimes, it was just what he did.

And other times, he broke the rules. Sometimes, it didn't bother him, sometimes, it did.

He was scientist and bad boy, cop that sometimes walked to the edge of the line.

When he clicked his pen, started to sign the first document, she couldn't help but smile. He looked up, glanced over the rim of his glasses at her. "What?"

Lindsay shrugged. He wouldn't want to hear her analysis of him. "You're just so cute."

"Yeah—and I think I need more of a gift from paperwork if that's what you came baring."

"What did you have in mind?" she asked, even as her cell phone rang.

"Something—" he eyed her cell as she opened it. "How bout some uninterrupted time? Just you and me?"

"Sounds good," she said then held the phone to her ear as she watched him. "Monroe."

"This is Nancy in reception. You have a visitor. He says he's your—"

"Grandfather. I should have expected him."

"Should I send him up."

"Probably."

"Yes or no, Detective Monroe?"

Lindsay rolled her eyes. "Yes. Have them bring him to my office."

"About that uninterrupted time?" Danny asked again as she hung up.

"Sounds good."

"Maybe head down to the Jersey Coast for the day. Or Long Island. I know some people with a good view."

"I think we could do that"

"And you're grandfather?"

She sighed thought of Marshall and why he was or wasn't in the city, "He won't be here forever."

Danny smiled. She supposed he hadn't expected her to leave with Marshall in town. "Then you better head down, head him off before he starts telling Mac what to do."

Lindsay laughed and shook her head. "You know him pretty well."

"I know you," he smiled and for a moment, she let herself be drawn into him through his smile, through the easy moment between them. He held up the stack of papers he still needed to read and sign. "I'll file these for you."

"Thanks—" he was looking at her again, the way that told her he was thinking of their interrupted plans, or planning … or just thinking of her. There was such emotion there. In his eyes.

Such blue eyes.

"Ah … let me go …"

He smiled. "Linds?"

"Yes?"

"Go."

But even as she left, she could tell that he watched her go.

* * *

_So ... :)_

_More to come later ... (should I tell you Mac may get to meet Marshal?)  
_


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